The Flame & The Shadow
by vivelabarricade
Summary: Enjolras, the Marble Lover of Liberty - the flame of revolution, never foresaw himself dealing with matters of the heart. But when he meets Eponine, the Shadow - the rain on the streets of Paris, will things change? E/É.
1. Flame & Shadow

Okay, so here's the beginning of that E/É fic I've been talking about. For anyone reading this who haven't read my other fic, _The Skeptic & His Patria, _this sort of ties in with that. Though the plot is mostly independent, so you really don't have to read it to understand what's going on at all. But, if you're interested, it's Grantaire/OC. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! My fist attempt at E/É.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis. **

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Eponine did not know why she continued to return to the Café Musain when she knew for certain that Marius would ignore her presence completely. She wanted to be angry with him, but it was nearly impossible. Sure, he did not notice her there - but he had other things on his mind. The revolution he and his friends were planning too precedence over her and she expected nothing less. Or at least, this was what she told herself to fend off the pain that threatened to choke her each time he brushed past her.

The young woman knew the streets well, and despite her small size, she was not afraid to wander the streets alone at night. Her father and her gang were the most dangerous men in the city, anyway. What did she really have to fear? Of course she knew there were many answers to that simple question, but she pushed the thoughts from her mind. It wouldn't do her well to dwell on them.

In her mind, Marius was concerned for her safety.

She wove through dark alleys, letting the shadows swallow her whole, allowing her to move almost invisibly through the darkened streets of the city towards the familiar café. She was not sure it was the best idea, considering that it was quite late - later than she had ever visited before. She could very well arrive and find the café empty. Though with as much attention as Marius paid her, it would not be much different from usual.

In all honesty, she desperately needed a place to warm herself. Her pale skin, which barely covered her bones, was covered in goosebumps. Her arms were crossed tightly, wrapped around her middle as if to draw in some warmth. That, of course, was impossible thanks to the thin and worm little dress she wore. She shrugged it off - she would rather be cold with nowhere to go then go back home to where she knew Montparnasse was waiting.

Her father would give her hell in the morning, but what was one more bruise?

As she neared the café, she slowed her pace. She was on the street now, where light from the windows of the buildings around her could actually illuminate her small frame. What if no one was there? Or if Marius was gone? She had no place in the café without him there, really. Though it would not surprise her if his friends did not even notice her presence. Perhaps she was destined to live that way. She played hide-and-seek so well that it became impossible for anyone to find her, even if she wanted them to.

...

Enjolras sat in the café which was now empty except for himself. Several books were open on the table in front of him. He poured over them as usual, jotting down notes in the margins - in any blank space he could find - and frantically scribbling onto some of the blank paper in front of him. During the earlier times of the night, when visitors occasionally stopped in, and his friends listened with rapt attention, the words flowed smoothly and naturally. Very few saw all of the work he put into this particular activity. All the better, though. Perhaps it was better that they saw their leader as all-knowing. They didn't need to see all of the sleepless nights. They might doubt him, then.

Though, Grantaire already did. The drunkard didn't hinder his plans much, though. _Les Amis _viewed his antics as funny. When he insulted the cause, it was never out of malice - Enjolras knew that deep down. The man simply did not believe in anything. It was not shocking or startling in any way to the others. It would not cause their faith to waiver.

The door opened slowly, but Enjolras had turned around before it even creaked.

Sometimes he feared it would be the police, there to crush his plans before he could even take action. He was willing to give his life, yes, but now was not the time. Something needed to happen before their banner could advance - he could not die alone in the café at night.

But it was not the police. It was the Shadow.

"Marius is not here." He spoke more quickly and harshly than he had intended to, but it was true. That could be the only explanation as to why the gamine would stumble into the café.

He didn't see the way her face faltered when he spoke the words, she put a mask of indifference back on much too quickly. Enjolras was not exactly fine-tuned to human emotion.

"Oh." The girl's voice was so deflated that even Enjolras noticed, and he found himself shaking his head as she made an attempt to leave.

She was shivering, and the clothes she wore were not suitable for the weather outside, he was sure. He hadn't even ventured outside that day thanks to the fact that he lived in a flat just above the café, but through the window he could see how everyone clutched their overcoats to themselves as they walked, heads bowed to the wind.

"You do not have to leave," he pointed out, gesturing to the empty room. There were plenty of empty chairs. "Pontmercy might come wandering back in - he's prone to do that." It was a lie, of course. Marius would not be back until the next day - he and the others had left for the evening, presumably to sleep. However, the young woman did not look as if she was in any condition to be wandering the streets.

Eponine shrugged, closing the door behind her. It shut the cold air out, and the warm air of the café allowed her tense muscles to relax just a bit. Such polite revolutionaries. Of course he would be - he probably pitied her like he pitied the rest of the vermin of the streets. She had heard enough of his speeches to know that much about him. His pretty words were all about the same thing. Freeing the people, bringing the light of a new day to France. She wanted to believe them, but she was not naive enough to.

"I'll wait just a while, then," she informed him.

He simply nodded, watching the frail young woman make her way to one of the tables, and nearly collapse into the chair. He pretended not to notice. A young gamine much like the Shadow had visited earlier that evening, and at the first sign of pity, she had taken off.

He turned back to his books and continued to write, nearly forgetting that the girl was there all together until he glanced up to see her slumped over the table, her head resting on her folded arms. Her eyes were closed and her slow, even breathing told him that she was asleep. He sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He could wake her up and tell her that Marius had not arrived, but something about the dark circles under her eyes when she walked in told him that she needed sleep. He could leave her where she was, but that wouldn't be right. He couldn't just leave her sleeping in the middle of a café.

He weighed his options as he gathered his books into a neat pile on the table, tucking all of the pages he had written into one of the covers. The girl shifted in her sleep, and one hand now hung limply off the table.

Sighing, he made his way towards her. He decided on taking her up to his flat. She could sleep there for then night. It was the least he could do, really. After all, she kept Marius out of a lot of trouble. The young man was brilliant, but at times he was like a child. The Shadow seemed to know her way around the streets quite well. She was intelligent in the sort of way that a gamine was intelligent, from what he saw. Yet time and time again she would be in the café, staring at Marius with rapt attention barely seeming to notice anything or anyone else in the room. He paid no such attention to her - just that of a friend.

With a shake of his head, he gathered the girl in his arms and stood slowly as not to wake her. It was not difficult to carry her up the stairs to his flat, given that she probably weighed about one hundred pounds - if that. He frowned. There were so many like her - too poor to feed themselves. He still vividly remembered the day when Gavroche had first appeared. He was in far better condition now, but he had been little more than an emaciated little boy then.

He pushed open the door to his flat. It was rather small, just a couple of rooms - his bedroom and a small kitchen and living room. It was cluttered, with books lying about everywhere. He was not concerned, he rarely spent time there. Most of his work, he did downstairs in the café among his friends.

He carried her to his room, placing her on the bed and pulling blankets over her. She had hardly stirred since he'd picked her up, which he was grateful for. Surely, had she woken up, she would have refused his offer of help. He took a few steps back from the bed, running a hand through his thick blonde curls. It was late and he had another full day ahead of him - one that was certain to be interesting.

Silently, he opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out a quilt. Even lying on the couch in the other room, he fell asleep quickly, more exhausted from the day than he'd thought.


	2. Like Smoke

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! I appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**Disclaimer: I am not Victor Hugo. **

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Eponine woke slowly.

She was warm. Why was she warm? It was always cold at home. She let Azelma use most of the blankets.

She was comfortable. Why was she comfortable? Her bed at home was little more than a mat on the floor.

She opened her eyes slowly to find herself in a room she had never been in before, lying in a bed she'd definitely never been in before. The sheets were soft, and a think blanket covered them. She racked her brain, trying to think of where she had been the night before.

She had been at home, but Montparnasse was there, and his intentions had been painfully clear. She had slipped out the back way and wandered to the café. But it had been late, and Marius wasn't there. Enjolras had been there, though... He'd told her Marius might be coming back. She had known it was a lie but she had sat down at one of the tables anyway in hopes of warming up a bit and passing time so that when she went home, Montparnasse might be gone.

She remembered then - she had fallen asleep. She must have, there was no other explanation. But that didn't explain where she was now. She could guess pretty well, however.

In a moment of panic, she ran her hands over her dress to make sure it was still on. She didn't think the man would do anything, but Eponine knew better than to trust anyone too easily. But the sheets were in order and so was her dress - her hair was no messier than usual, and Enjolras was nowhere in sight. Of course he had probably taken her home out of pity. It made her stomach churn. She really didn't need a ll of the pity.

She sat up quickly, ignoring the pang of hunger she felt as she did so. She hadn't eaten in a while. Food was sparse at home, and like the blankets, she gave most of her share to Azelma. She liked to think the girl was grateful, but it was difficult to tell. Either way, she tried to shelter the younger girl as much as possible, though it was difficult with their parents and her father's friends and the cold, harsh streets that they lived on. However, just like Éponine, Azelma was little more than a child, but hard to scare. In many ways, however, Azelma was quite different.

She had just barely gotten out of bed when the door opened.

"You're awake," Enjolras said simply.

Éponine didn't know how exactly to react. She was in a strange situation. Part of her was panicked, she should have returned home the night before. Her father would be furious by the time she did get back.

"You should have woken me last night," she told him.

Enjolras shrugged. He could not tell her the reason that he hadn't - she would react the exact way that the other young woman had to pity, he was sure. No, it was better not to explain.

"So you don't talk now?" Eponine asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've been in the café enough times to know that you never stop talking."

She wasn't exactly sure why she was so concerned with his explanation - She already knew why he had done it. The night had been cold, and as hard as she tried to hide them, there were bruises visible all over her body. What sort of revolutionary would he be if he didn't aid the people he defended in his speeches, after all?

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle," Enjolras finally spoke. She had never heard him speak in such a halting way before. He seemed almost nervous. It was almost funny. "But I did not want to send you back out into the cold. It was late and the streets are not safe."

Eponine choked on a laugh as she got out of bed and stood in front of him. "Oh, I had no idea," she said. Of course she knew the streets were dangerous. "I'm more than capable of handling it," she snapped. She didn't exactly look like a fragile little flower. No, not a bit. Eponine knew her way around, and she knew how to fend for herself. It was pathetic, she knew, but she only sought Marius's help because pity and concern seemed to be the closest thing to love that she could coax out of the oblivious young man. It was not because she _actually _wanted the help. She didn't like to owe anyone anything, and accepting help meant exactly that.

"I'm sure you are," Enjolras spoke in a more urgent way now, becoming slightly irritated with the Shadow. "I do not doubt your ability, Mademoiselle, but one can never be too careful." He didn't speak what he was really thinking - that he couldn't have let her go out because, though she was quite good at making herself no more than a shadow, there were dangerous people on the streets and honestly she looked like she was having a pretty rough time already. Bruises peppered her pale skin, and even now after a full night of sleep, she looked tired. Not to mention that she was way too skinny, as if she rarely saw food at all.

"You mean you couldn't have it on your conscience if you sent me off and I never returned," she said simply. The two were more alike than anyone might think - both stubborn and cold as stone. "Well, you don't need to worry about me," she told him matter-of-factly.

Enjolras could do nothing but watch as the shadow slipped out of the room like smoke. He could have sworn she was walking, but by the time he turned and went to follow her, she had disappeared out of the small flat - he could hear the patter of her feet as she ran down the stairs, but he did not follow. There was no use, the moment she stepped onto the street, she would be impossible to find. Indeed, she was a shadow.


	3. Into the Night

Thanks for all of the reviews and follows and all of that, I really appreciate it and I'm glad you all like the story!

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Les Mis.**

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"Your friend came to the café last night, Marius."

Enjolras had been unable to get the Shadow out of his mind all day despite his effort to do so. It was none of his concern, really, but he wondered where she had wandered off to and he hoped it would not be home. He was not stupid, he knew there must have been a reason why she showed up at the café so late. She should have been at home sleeping - if she even had a home to go to. It was quite difficult to tell, with gamines like her. Either way, he had come to the conclusion that she had arrived at the café looking for somewhere safe to stay. Though, he had given her a place to stay and she had scurried off as soon as she realized.

"Éponine?" he questioned. Concern flashed over his face for a moment, and Enjolras shrugged.

"I don't know her name, but if she is the one that follows you, then yes."

Marius frowned. "Did she seem alright?" he asked.

Enjolras was incredibly surprised. The girl constantly walked in looking as if she had been thrown down a flight of stairs and he seemed to ignore it. Strange to see him making a fuss now, though he supposed Marius could be choosing to ignore it for Éponine's sake. She did not seem like the type to want pity, though the way she looked at Marius told him otherwise. He could always see her from across the room.

"I'm not sure," Enjolras said honestly, "She seemed upset - She was looking for you."

"She knows what time I leave the café..." he trailed off.

Enjolras had been correct to assume she was just looking for a safe place to hide for a bit, then.

"She passed out at one of the tables just after she arrived."

He was not sure he should tell him the rest of what happened - he didn't know why he would be hesitant to do so at all. It was not as if he was not used to having guests in his homes after meetings. Grantaire often got so drunk that even Enjolras felt concerned for his safety. However, this particular situation did seem rather different.

"Oh..." Marius trailed off. He seemed concerned, but Enjolras doubted he would go and look for her. She was always the one that appeared. "Well, perhaps she will be back tonight."

Enjolras just nodded solemnly.

...

Éponine should never have wandered home - it had been a terrible idea. Her father was still furious, of course. Montparnasse was nowhere in sight, but she knew quite well that the snake of a man could appear anywhere.

There had been a time when they were friends. He was young, just as she was. Both had been thrown into a rather cruel life, and at first they had bonded over such things. Only a couple of years back, he used to hold her when she cried, he used to be careful not to touch the bruises that covered her skin, he used to make her smile and laugh when no one else could. He used to be so kind, but in such a short time, life seemed to have ruined him.

Now he drank too much, he screamed at her, he slapped her across the face - reinforcing her father's cruel treatment and making her life more of a living hell than it already was. He killed people, she knew. He was quicker with a knife than most were with a gun. In short, he had become something terrible. Rough kisses pressed against cold brick walls replaced the soft ones he used to place on her forehead. He seemed to have completely lost the ability to love, or to show any affection at all.

The moment she had stepped through the door to the pitiful apartment she called home, she was greeted with a slap to her face - her father.

_"Where the hell were you last night? You cost me dear - I told you to be here!"_

_"But Papa, I-" _

_"I don't want to hear your sorry excuses, get out."_

_"I'm here now, Papa..." _

_"I don't care, get out!" _

_A hard shove and she was back out on the street - shivering, tears blossoming in her eyes. _

Honestly, the most pathetic part of the whole situation was that she had called him Papa, as if she was really like a father to her. Of course, he had been once. When she was younger and he still loved her. When he took her to the park and played games with her and Azelma - never mind that Cosette was left out. He had always been a crook, but at one time he had at least been kind to his children, kind to his wife. That man was no more. Just like Montparnasse, he had frozen - he was like ice that could not be melted by summer heat.

Frustrated, she turned to leave. She knew that she would be welcomed back with open arms the next time her father needed a favor from her - but in this moment she felt so completely lost. She had nowhere to go, she looked like a mess - not that it was much different than normal. She could go to the café, but she had walked out on Enjolras earlier that morning and for some reason she just did not want to face Marius.

So she did what she was wonderful at doing - she wandered off, disappearing into the streets like the shadow she was. She didn't even need the cover of darkness to do so.

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"I'm sure she'll be back, R." Jehan was comforting Grantaire, who seemed far too intoxicated, in his opinion, to even be caring this much. The gamine that had wandered into the café a couple of nights before was apparently still on the drunkard's mind. Enjolras himself didn't remember all that much about her, other than the fact that Grantaire had taken to start a conversation with her and then proceeded to pronounce her as Patria in front of the entire group. The others had taken to calling her by the nickname as well, as if she were the first street urchin to wander into the café late at night. Perhaps it was just the fact that the cynic had named her that made the nickname so charming.

Of course, the thought of this supposed Patria reminded him of Éponine. Surprisingly, she had not shown up that evening. He would have thought she would have shown up to see Marius, but apparently he had been mistaken.

Sighing inaudibly, he turned his attention back to the books in front of him.

They had a revolution to plan, far more important than worrying about one person in particular. It was sort of hypocritical, he supposed - but Enjolras did not look at small things. No, he looked at the big picture. Saving just one person was not enough for the flame of a leader, he had to save everyone. It was the only way.

...

Enjolras could not seem to focus that evening, and it was infuriating him. The others were sitting and talking, for the most part. He needed some air.

"Someone walk Grantaire home," he ordered, glancing down at the young man who was practically asleep at the table. "Or take him upstairs, I don't really care. I'm going for a walk."

The _Amis _watched as their leader stepped out into the night, looking entirely frustrated. They all assumed it was because they had spent the evening talking and laughing rather than planning, but they were wrong. For once, the marble statue was not frustrated with the others and their lack of focus. He was frustrated with himself. The distance he kept and his indifference toward most matters was his shield. It had never been difficult before, but in one burst of light - or rather, fleeting shadow, things had changed and he suddenly felt himself caring much too deeply about Éponine's wellbeing.

He did not know where, particularly, to go. He was not even sure why he had left. He needed to clear his head – but stepping out into the streets had only clouded it even further. He began to wonder where Éponine could possibly be, and his mind was plagued with worry. He should not be so upset, as she did disappear often, but it just seemed strange. It had been quite a while since this happened now, and she was far too smitten with Marius to not return that evening. Why was he wandering? Did he think he was going to find her? The idea was absolutely ridiculous. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be found. And, after her exit that morning, it was clear that she didn't want to be found.

Enjolras found himself wandering through streets that he was unfamiliar with, and his heart broke at the sight before him. Yes, he often saw the poor, but for some reason, it was more painful at this time of night, when he was usually at the café trying to better their lives. He usually saw them in the day, when there was at least a little warmth from the sun, or at least some sense of happiness and hope even in their squalid conditions. Now, it was night, and small groups of them huddled together, he could see their fleeting figures in the shadows as they scurried off to wherever they called home. The sadness in their eyes was heartbreaking.

Nothing, however, could possibly be as heartbreaking as what he saw next.

He saw her – Éponine, walking with a man. His hand was wrapped around her small wrist and he appeared to be holding quite tightly to her. Her head hung down, and she appeared to be upset. However, she just followed, allowed herself to be dragged along by the vile man. Why was she putting up no fight? She didn't even appear to be struggling though he was quite certain that she probably wanted to.

In a moment of panic, wanting to get her out of the situation she was in despite the fact that he was certain she did not want his help, he called out to her.

"Éponine!"

Her head, and the head of the man, snapped in his direction so quickly that he almost regretted calling out. The man looked angry, and Éponine looked terrified. Her eyes were wide and she stared at him in disbelief. Had calling out to her done more harm then good?

"You know this man?" the man asked, walking in his direction now, his grip still tight around the girl's wrist.

She shook her head, "I do not recall ever meeting him."

"But he knows your name, love."

Éponine was caught in her own lie, not that it had been a good one in the first place. She was not particularly worried about herself, as she was already in enough trouble, this wouldn't matter much. She was worried for Enjolras, who may have just dug himself his own grave. Montparnasse did not like the idea of Éponine associating with others outside the gang, especially "bourgeois boys" like Marius and his friends.

"How do you know her?" he asked, glaring at the blonde man, a smirk on his face. "You meet her on the streets one night?" he asked, "How much did she charge you?"

Enjolras shook his head, "No, no… She is a friend of a friend," he defended.

"Right," Montparnasse hissed, his fingers digging into Éponine's skin. She kept her expression as even as possible. "Don't bother lying, I know she's an unfaithful little bitch."

Enjolras' mouth dropped open. From the way she followed Marius around, she was nothing if not faithful. She did not seem to want to be with this man at all – so what did it matter if she was faithful to him? It was disgusting, the way some people treated others.

"I called to her, Monsieur, because she looked incredibly unhappy – it does not appear that she wants to be with you." Enjolras was not going to sit idly and let the conversation continue the way it had been going.

"Well it's none of your business, is it?"

Enjolras was surprised, though he shouldn't have been, by Éponine's words. She did not want help. Her life was cold and dark, but she did not appear to be afraid. It was painful to watch, really. She was just allowing herself to be treated in such a horrible way and pushing away his attempts to help her.

"Good girl," Montparnasse drawled, leaning his face close to hers. Enjolras noticed how she turned her head slightly away from him, but said nothing. There really was no point in trying.

"Come along now," he said with a smirk, staring at Enjolras as he continued on his way, dragging Éponine along with him. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground.

She did not need this man risking his life for her.

However, he couldn't just let her be dragged away, and just as the man was passing, he punched him hard in the face, causing him to lose his grip on Éponine momentarily. She stared at him in disbelief for a fraction of a second before grabbing his wrist this time, "Run!"

And so, the Flame and the Shadow ran off into the shadows, both trying to become invisible this time.


End file.
